


Being Wrong

by squanderbird



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-24
Updated: 2012-07-24
Packaged: 2017-11-10 15:49:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/467998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squanderbird/pseuds/squanderbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And they're both tired of being alone, and that's as much of an excuse as anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Being Wrong

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tierfal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tierfal/gifts).



> _I can't look at you, Jack. You're just...wrong._

i. 

It's never been something right. 

ii.

It's been fun, certainly, laughter and tussling, and his face had crinkled up in confusion when Jack had grinned about how we'll always have Paris.   
“We've never been to Paris,” he said, soft and wry. He haphazardly knotted the laces of his shoes into acceptable disarray, glanced over towards the other man under a curtain of darkish fringe.   
“Well, no,” Jack conceded, stretching langurously and idly reaching for his precious coat, “but we've been to the City State of Burning Light, haven't we, Doctor? Surely that counts for something?”   
He nodded.   
“Maybe it does.” 

iii. 

“You really need to get out more, Doctor,” Jack decided, when he failed to recognise yet another obscure pop culture reference.   
“I do,” he retorted, gesturing around him, “What do you think all of this is for?”   
Jack shook his head.  
“That's not what I meant.” 

iv. 

He's a traveller, a saviour, always just passing through and only stopping to rescue the myriad galaxies from yet another species with megalomaniac tendencies. Enigmatic and quirky and nameless, belonging and beholden to nothing, until -   
“What do I call you now?” Jack had asked afterwards, and he hadn't even looked up as he replied lightly.   
“Whatever you like.”   
“I can think of a few ideas.”  
He doesn't see the smile, but he can feel it, warm and kind against the skin. Tries not to turn into the promise of it, like a sunflower reaching for the light. 

v.

“Don't you ever get lonely, Doctor?”   
“Sometimes. But then I think better of it.” 

vi. 

He gives in, eventually. Jack's always made it far too easy. 

vii. 

Jack takes up space, with his swirling coat and shoulders, his loud smirk and booming accent, just with the physicality of him.   
At first, it irritates him, having to negotiate his existence around another, so he isn't quite sure when he becomes oddly accustomed to Jack's presence, moving around the other man as though he is a bewilderingly necessary piece of furniture. 

viii. 

“Have you ever wanted something, Jack, but known you can't have it?”  
“I don't know, Doctor. Have you tried asking?” 

ix. 

“If you ever leave me,” Jack had promised once, the words muttered into his hair, “I'll run after you. I'll never stop looking. I'll chase you down the centuries.” 

He had smiled up at the sky, but he hadn't believed him. 

x.

And they're both tired of being alone, and that's as much of an excuse as anything. 

xi. 

Late night, staring out at the stars swishing past, at the orbiting moons waxy and golden.

“Stay with me.” 

A mocking salute is the reply, a wide smirk the confirmation. The interlinked hands, the promise. They continue. 

xii. 

They're both tired of being separated from normality by what they've seen, by what they are – and what they are is two men who will die and live for all time, and that brings a fresh meaning to the possibility of _forever._

xiii. 

It's not something right, but then neither are they.


End file.
